


Like Strawberries in the Summertime

by Agama_agama



Series: shuichi guro extended universe [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Guro, Masturbation, No actual relationships but Shuichi fantasizes about a lot of different people, Other, Shuichi-centric but other characters are mentioned, also unless you're into shuichi crying a lot and being really ashamed of himself, consider this more of a character study than a jerkoff fic, even though it is about him jerking off. hm., jerkin it to your dead friends, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agama_agama/pseuds/Agama_agama
Summary: Shuichi Saihara has a gore fetish.The flashback light didn't take it from him.





	Like Strawberries in the Summertime

**Author's Note:**

> approximately 2500 words of Shuichi Saihara jerking off and crying
> 
> Title and end lyrics from a Fleet Foxes song (White Winter Hymnal) because I'm deadass deep.

Shuichi Saihara hadn't known what shame felt like. 

Kaede Akamatsu was his friend. 

Kaede Akamatsu was a  _person_.  She was so different from files buried deep in the internet or pictures from a particularly difficult case. 

Of course, those were people too. The degree of separation was just enough to keep him from drowning in guilt. Some other sicko had done these awful things, Shuichi was just one of the sickos- out of millions, he was sure- that was part of the inevitable conclusion. 

And yes, it  _was_ a shameful little secret he had. But he had made a policy of never learning the names. 

Not only did he know Kaede Akamatsu's name, he had spoken to her. He held her hand and she smiled at him.  _He could have prevented her death._

And what a glorious death it was.

Kaede gasping for breath, clawing at her throat, face going blue from lack of oxygen. And then came the crescendo. 

Shuichi came into his hand thinking about the top of that piano crushing her into a million pieces, and when his head cleared he was thinking about the awful thing he was doing.

Why couldn't he resist this time? The horrific guilt and shame far outweighed any momentary pleasure he had gotten from watching Kaede die. He would rather have her sitting beside him and be crying into her arms than... anything, really. Shuichi would have given anything to have her back.

But he had to cry alone. And he had just given up the last vestiges of his sanity. 

He did do it for Kaede, after all. Not the Kaede Akamatsu who he had a burgeoning crush on, who had a family, who wanted nothing more than to rally everyone together and escape- the Kaede who should never have existed. 

The Kaede Akamatsu hanging from a rope, about to be crushed to death.

\---

Shuichi thought he had everything under control, yet he was in the bathroom crying and pumping his dick. He didn't want to get off, he just wanted to  _calm down. _

Orgasms had become a punishment for him. They were always associated by disgusting images of people he knew- people he had talked to- dead.

The picture of Ryoma being ripped apart by fish was disgusting. But the idea of flesh being ripped from bone, water drowned out by blood- and he had been unfortunate enough to see it happen. 

The part of his brain that was still human was working as hard as it could to erase the memory from his mind, but the part that was growing up to be a serial killer was replaying it over and over again, and it was winning, because of how impossible it is to forget something when you're really trying to. 

He let the images overtake him for a second, just to have it over with. A second was all it took. Shuichi was disgusted with himself. For doing this to Kaede, Ryoma, even Rantaro. For having done this to so many nameless human beings who showed up in his uncle's case files before and not feeling the same guilt he felt now. Even for seeking out slasher movies and skipping through to the parts where the pretty victims were getting disemboweled.

Shuichi would just say he had suddenly had to throw up when he was asked about his sudden departure. It was a realistic enough excuse- what he had just seen was by most accounts vomit-inducing, and he did head to the bathroom. 

He would kill himself if anyone ever found out. Leave a suicide note to spare everyone else a trial and everything. It seemed like a foolproof way to keep anyone from learning the truth about him in the first place, if not for the recurring dream of Monokuma appearing after Shuichi was already dead and telling everyone.

Monokuma probably knew, didn't he? Was that going to be a motive- "kill the creep who's been masturbating to your dead friends"? He wouldn't have objected if it was.

\---

Shuichi Saihara felt normal for once in his chaotic life. It may have had something to do with the actual exercize he was getting from the training sessions, but he was attracted to normal, alive people for once. Even trying not to imagine Maki covered in blood or Kaito with his guts spilling out was easier on his mind than having to fend off the actual images of those things he'd really seen. 

It was a thin line to walk between thinking that he wasn't so bad after all and he'd done nothing wrong and that he was an unfixable freak for considering this a victory. And he knew it was a ticking time bomb until someone else decided to kill again and he relapsed. He could only hope that the motive this time was too ridiculous for anyone to commit murder for. 

Seriously, reincarnation? Shuichi almost laughed. That was it- he was going to go to bed and wake up in his home, safe and free. This was all some strange, cautionary dream. His mind was telling him what he already knew- projecting his gore fetish onto real people, even people he didn't know, was wrong. He would wake up and get help. 

For the time being, Shuichi decided to bring up a fantasy about him being sandwiched between Maki and Kaito, Kaito taking him from behind while his head was buried in Maki's chest. He came without an intense feeling of guilt or dread for once- he had been avoiding masturbation altogether for fear of the guilt creeping up on him when it truly didn't belong, but he had really managed to stave it off. He was capable of being normal. 

He would wake up at home tomorrow- this was truly a nightmare, but he believed he had gotten to the end of it. He found the moral. Shuichi suddenly had a lot more sympathy for the characters in fairy tales. It's easy to separate yourself from the outlandish and brush things like your grandmother being eaten by a wolf off until something outlandish happens to you. Tragedy is tragedy. Shuichi was sure his tragedy was over.

Shuichi went to sleep and woke up back in hell. The whole day was a blur until he saw Angie's corpse.

\---

Shuichi began to wonder if Korekiyo was a kindred spirit. Had been a kindred spirit. Even the mental tense changes he found himself doing were another grim reminder that these people who now only inhabited Shuichi's mind were dead.

Not that he wanted to have anything in common with Korekiyo. He'd seen serial killers destroy families and ruin lives. He thought back to a few cases of women being murdered that had gone unsolved- one strike to the back of the neck, inordinate respect shown to the bodies, possibly a juvenille offender. The theory had been that he had thought these women were "pure" and "perfect", then they had offended him in some way- it was a pathology they had seen before.

He thought of the boyfriends and families and children who would come to his uncle's office to be told the unthinkable. 

He looked into those people's eyes and came to a conclusion about the killer- that he was disgusting, unforgivable, and deserved to rot in Hell.

That was one thing he had in common with Korekiyo, anyway.

One common theme with serial killers is that whatever motive they say they're killing for, they get pleasure from it. It wasn't a hard assumption to make that Korekiyo- whose sister's influence on his life was so overpowering that he developed a tulpa of her- got off on finally having some power over young women. 

So, did that mean Korekiyo had an excuse? Was the incestual serial killer who had just been  _boiled alive_\-  that was something Shuichi had actually fantasized about, holy shit he couldn't believe he saw it- for killing two women more sympathetic than Shuichi?

As far as Shuichi knew, he was just... like this. There was no trauma to fall back on or blame. He didn't even know when it started, just assumed it took place in one of the fuzzy parts of his memory that he attributed to shock. 

He was always like this. Images of people being eviscerated, brutalized, tortured and killed in ways that very few humans would dare to conjure, had always swam through his psyche. His sick mind reacted to blood and gore the way a healthy one reacted to pornography. 

Suddenly, Shuichi realized that there was a major difference between him and Korekiyo. 

Korekiyo preferred a clean kill. 

\---

Before Miu died, Shuichi had begun entertaining that shameful part of his mind. He would sit on his bed and curl a hand around himself, just letting his mind go to whatever horrible, horrible places it wanted to take him.

It didn't feel like an indulgence. It just felt like something he had to do, a necessary evil, the foregone conclusion of repressing himself for so long. And it almost made everything seem... fake, if just for a moment. Like he was back at home watching some American horror film with the subtitles off, wishing he was the one feeling all that warm blood on his skin.

He could do it. With his detective skills and the experience he had with violent crime (not to mention all the time he had spent fantasizing about broken, disfigured bodies), he could commit a murder that would put Korekiyo's complicated plot to shame. 

He really could kill another human being. The environment he'd been placed in was a veritable playground for it. 

Shuichi imagined a million ways to do it- steal weapons from Maki's lab, create some kind of trap, take a knife from the kitchen... anything that would allow him to see the fear in someone's eyes and dig into their body with his own two hands. He drew his victims for these murder plots from his usual stock of fictional characters and victims from his uncle's detective business. Eventually, it shifted to Rantaro, and Kirumi, and even Kaito or Miu sometimes- which was when all of it began to feel horrifyingly real. 

He started imagining his execution, too. He didn't for a second think he would try to get away with this crime- although he knew that if he actually did it, his fight or flight instinct would probably prevent him from owning up to it. Shuichi's stomach turned at the thought. Hopefully, his guilt would do him some good for once and override every survival instinct he had when the time actually came. 

So when he did get executed, he wanted it to be gory. (It wasn't just other people that were targeted by his grim fantasies- they also reached inward.) He wanted to be dissected and lose blood until he could barely breathe. And then, oh, if he was finished off by a blow to his exposed heart-! 

That same heart beat faster at the possibility of being stabbed or crushed to death, and Shuichi came with a small, breathless "Ah-!"

It was hard to feel anything anymore. Part of him hoped he could just beat it out of his system if he jerked off to the fantasies enough, but he of all people should have known that wasn't going to cut it. 

When he exited the virtual world, he panicked for a second- did he kill Miu somehow? Oh God, what if he didn't even remember it?

\---

Shuichi silently thanked Gonta after Miu's trial. Not that he cared too much about what he said about the outside world. He didn't really believe it, to be honest. It was a little farfetched, and Shuichi was already beginning to connect the dots that told him something much bigger was going on. But Gonta had brought him back to reality. Looking back on his moment of insanity, Shuichi was stunned silent at how close he was to becoming a monster. He couldn't even tell himself he wouldn't have done it.

He knew, if left alone, he would have snapped eventually. 

Fortunately, the taste that Gonta's execution left in his mouth was so grotesque that it pushed away any lingering desire. He didn't want that to happen to him. 

It was incredible that his fear of bugs was what stopped his hunanity from decaying even further. 

Shuichi cried that night, inconsolably- Gonta's sacrifice had only served to bring his conscience back and save Kokichi Ouma. He didn't deserve to die for that. He would have traded places with Gonta in a second.

\---

An unrecognizable pile of gore lay under the hydraulic press, and Shuichi was assaulted by so much that he forgot to think. Kaito's sleeve- that meant there would be no more training sessions, no more encouragement, no more friendship. How was he going to go on? He wouldn't see Kaito again. He'd never talk to him again. Kaito may as well have been the only thing dragging him through the killing game.

And yet he couldn't stop imagining bones cracking and shattering. Blood vessels bursting. Every gory process that occured to produce the disgusting scene in front of him was straight out of Shuichi's fantasies.

Even if he could talk to Kaito again after this, he wasn't sure he would want to. That went for everyone else too. He hated that he only thought about Kirumi with a massive spike through her chest, that he remembered Korekiyo being slowly boiled to death with blood flowing out of his eyes, that out of all the good memories he had of Kaede the clearest one was of her face moments before the spikes crushed down on her with her hands scraping at her neck. 

If there was an afterlife, he would apologize and hope that he would never see them again. 

He didn't want Kaito to join that list, though- Kaito, who had done so much for him, deserved that much. He would remember the person that had been killed this way- think of how he suffered. Think of Kaito as he was and not how he died.

Then, Shuichi found out that the victim was Kokichi Ouma. Cute little Kokichi Ouma was that pile of viscera and crushed bone- the image that had been a cancerous tumor on his imagination, wiping out every other thought the second he stopped concentrating on suppressing it. 

He wished Ouma was the mastermind. Getting off to the person who put them through all of this being killed in such a cruel, messy way would have been an act of ironic justice- something he could justify. Maybe not something  _good_ or  _right_,  probably a petty act of delusional vengeance, but something that the person who did this to Kaede, and Kirumi, and Gonta and Ryoma and Rantaro probably deserved.

But Ouma wasn't the mastermind. 

Shuichi looked at the cum still on his hand before wiping it off and tossing the tissue in the bin. That's another name to the list of people he had to apologize to every time he came.

\---

Tsumugi Shirogane played the audition tapes. 

Shuichi Saihara didn't remember- but he remembered.

_I was following the pack_

_All swaddled in their coats_

_The scarves of red_

_Tied 'round their throats_

_To keep their little heads_

_From falling in the snow_

_And I turned 'round and there you go_

_And Michael, you would fall_

_And turn the white snow red _

_As strawberries in the summertime._

**Author's Note:**

> i know danganronpa blood isnt red don't @ me


End file.
